petcromancer | IC Inbox (Abraxas)

Please, Hector. I wouldn't know any wiser. You must take credit where you can! Besides, the real work is remembering all the finer details.

[He takes his time walking through Hector's space, indulging in the warmth of it. Books upon books upon books, of course; exactly the man so inclined to discuss science as he'd been the first time they'd met in the Horizon. He peeks around simply to see if anything has changed, noting the finer details, and perhaps pausing a few times as they walk through to give a few dogs a good scrub on the head.

After all the new compatriots he's found nesting and housing and digging about in his own space, he can't fault the man for having so many critters around. Their presence, even if they are far from real, is a comfort. Look, he even has friends that change into beasts. It's like he attracts them now.

Stepping in, the air turns thick with humidity, the sound of splashing water filling the quiet. His brows raise, and he laughs.] Why, Hector, it's a veritable pool. Nearly a bath house. Not, of course, that this is a complaint.

[It's certainly not, because as Jaskier steps carefully over a pup, he's already unbuttoning his doublet, letting it fall to the ground behind him. And there goes his chemise. He is, in fact, more eager to get into this pool than he has been for anything in weeks.

Even if he pauses, once his top half is nude, to bend down and rub the ear of a dog currently sticking its nose in his pile of clothing, ties of his trousers hanging loose between his legs.] You are very lucky, my friend, that canine drool does not stain so easily here.

[The library is largely the same; filled with books of science and magic, though now the sections on bestiaries and vampire literature are more robust. A new couch, from the sole comfortable nook in a frigid Styrian castle. The workshop has more changes; magical trappings and a large operating table with Hector's forging hammer set upon it.

The domain is still devoid of people. The only ones Hector trusts are the ones he occasionally brings here.]

I take credit for what I do. But I'm no architect. That sort of thing's never held much interest for me.

[He takes a moment to breath in the steam, admiring the stolen design. Yes, he did manage to get the details right, in spite of that lack of expertise. After a few years of cold baths in a rickety wooden tub in his cottage back in Rhodes, Hector had indulged in the room that inspired this one in his rare free time.]

It's nice, isn't it? Plenty of room to stretch out. [This is a magical domain, there's no reason not to treat themselves.

Speaking of, he takes a moment to appreciate the improved view as Jaskier shrugs out of most of his clothes. Jaskier pauses from the pool to pet his dog, and Hector feels something melt inside of him. Oh. He swallows. Jaskier had said he adored Hector before, but while Jaskier coos over one of his pets, Hector realizes that the reverse is true as well. Well, fuck. He just stares, one hand at his shirt with the first few buttons undone.]

Extremely nice. [Some men make it almost impossible to compliment them. Then again, the things he is quite sure Hector would love to hear him harp upon -- blacksmithing and, er, little demon-y things -- are not points he has much experience with.

In time. Surely. He's still enamored with the idea of a parade.

All right, so apparently the pup is quite enamored with the cologne he's given himself in the Horizon. Instead of wrestling the chemise from the dog's mouth, he gives it a scratch behind the ear and lets him at it. Why not? He can make a whole closet of them.

He looks up just in time to see Hector's eyes on him. And Jaskier, far from new at being admired, gives him a smile and a wiggle of his brows, back on his feet as he saunters to close the distance. You know what? After a month of shit, he deserves to be appreciated, even if it's only for his body. A body that Hector now knows he does not exaggerate. (Why mess with perfection?)] Now, Hector, you're looking at me as if it's your first time watching me undress. Delightful and flattering, to be sure, but I'd hate to distract you so. [He tugs at his shirt, then helps him along with a few more buttons undone.]

Unless... I don't mind helping divest you of your clothes, either. [They could all use a spot of help these days.]

[If Jaskier compliments him on something he takes pride in, he'll find Hector quite receptive.

He blinks his eyes and tries to resume his unbuttoning. His fingers feel leaden and clumsy, stunned with the realization that has been building for a while now. Hector is in love. If Jaskier were to offer him a ring, he'd take it, even if it meant being enslaved.

He swallows, unsure of what to do in the wake of that revelation.]

I... I'm supposed to be taking care of you. Get in, you're due a soak and a massage.

[Okay, he really is acting a bit odd. It's not the first time Hector's seen him nude, nor seen his scar, so now he's -- has he said something a bit odd? Doubtful. All he's done is compliment his bath.

Jaskier tips his head, watching him. Unsurprisingly, there is no explanation.

You know what? This time, he's letting it go.]

Ah. Right, right. You're supposed to be spoiling me. I am very glad to see the return of your bullying. [He gives him a teasing tug of his shirt, stepping away to all but slip out of his trousers, which get tossed quite haphazardly near the bundle of other clothes. He's lost his boots somewhere, which he suspects one of the hounds has stolen and taken off to chew. Well. He can't blame them. They are a lovely sort of leather.

He slips into the water, which as the steam and humid air promised, is about as hot as it can be without being uncomfortable. He sighs, lets his shoulders fall, just a little, with the weight of everything he has been carrying. As he turns, he stretches out his arms along the tiled side of the pool.] How have you been lately? I know we see each other plenty, but... well. My head's been in a fog. [He props his head up on an arm, watching steam rise from his skin.] Your soups have proven to be quite the bounty.

[Jaskier strips with his usual, flirtatious panache. Hector, by contrast, snorts and magics his clothes away so he can follow Jaskier into the water.

He settles on the bench that runs along the pool wall, close enough to take Jaskier's stretched hand and begin to rub his thumbs along the bard's palm. A lutist's hand bears different callouses than a forgemaster's, another fact to file away about his lover.]

I've been fine. You haven't missed much. Work and study, and trying to teach the fox to shake paws.

[Hector really does need to get a dog as his next pet. He has plenty here in the Horizon, but hasn't found one for the physical world since his living situation hasn't been figured out yet.

He smiles at Jaskier's mention of his cooking. He's no great talent in the kitchen, but he made an effort, and he's pleased it was noticed through that fog.]

One of my hidden depths. I've lived alone most of my life, and unlike my pets, I require food to live. Had to teach myself to make something worth eating.

[He snorts in a way that is very undignified, and even if Hector doesn’t know it yet, in a way he only allows in very close company. He leans back against the wall, Hector’s fingers gentle, yet persistent.

It pings him as similar to how Geralt had forced the knot out of his injured arm. In a Cadens bathhouse, too. Except where he used brute force, his forgemaster now leans towards a patient cajoling. He certainly prefers that right now.]

The very idea of a fox shaking hands — er, paws — is beyond poetic. And adorable. Though I must insist we name him, lest he develop an identity crisis.

[He moves a bit closer, the water shifting with him, giving a wiggle of his brows. He’s definitely listening, but.] There are depths in you I haven’t plundered yet?

[He can’t help himself. Even if it is far more likely that Hector has, ahem. Plundered his.

His fingers curl as Hector presses into a pressure point. Not uncomfortably, but real enough that he swears he feels it in his scalp. When next he speaks, it isn’t quite so teasing.] You know, sometimes when you speak that way, you make living sound as if it’s a chore.

[Unfortunately, he can picture it. Lonely years with only the reanimated animals he finds in the street… echoes of the hound that led to the death of his parents. Jaskier understands it, in a distant way, but to him it sounds like a prison sentence. Like a punishment. And yet, he never seems to speak of it like a regret.

He lifts his free hand from the water, idly traces his fingertips over Hector’s shoulder, down to his collarbone.] I suppose it is oftentimes.

[Who would he be to judge? Truthfully, the last month could be described that way, settling him into a frame of mind where he did nothing but sleep, and in his waking hours wish he could sleep more.

Maudlin. Ugh. Unattractive, and sure to turn some of his hair white. The horror!]

Edited 2021-12-23 09:10 (UTC)

[Hector raises an eyebrow. He is absolutely thinking the same thing Jaskier is regarding his depths and the thoroughness of their plundering.]

You're welcome to try and delve them deeper whenever you'd like.

[It's a little easier to breathe when they fall into joking like this. His feelings don't feel as dangerously serious when they're grinning at one another.

His massaging fingers slide to Jaskier's wrist.]

Do you have thoughts on what he should be called? I haven't settled on one that suits him yet.

[Jaskier's voice goes more serious, but Hector's stays light. Why shouldn't it? Life is good now, with a lover who genuinely wants the best for him, a safe place to keep his pets, and a workshop where he can experiment without attracting an angry mob.]

It can be, but you know me. I like my work. And I can't complain about the company, either.

[Gods, he does love a good flirt. There's nothing that makes him feel more human and less a wreck. Or more, he thinks, it comes from that Hector's tone remains so light. Oh, ugh. When has he become the more morose one of any pairing? He feels he must be akin to dragging about a whining child.

He closes his eyes, leaning back, and simply focuses on the fingers at his wrist. A twitch of his lips turns into a smile.]

I have been told my company is exemplary. [He peeks an eye open.] And your work is as well.

[Hmm. A name for the fox. A fox, reanimated by a smith of souls. Ah!] Where I come from, the people there -- and a few dwarves -- worship a god called Telawel. Er, I say sometimes, if only because it still comes off a bit cult-y. He's said to be a divine blacksmith, whose followers preach a life of honest work. [He gives him a smile, shifting his leg against Hector's.] He may sound like someone I know.

[Well, the key, Jaskier, is to hit complete rock bottom, then have to scrape yourself back up and keep going. Everything after that seems doable.]

Oh?

[His work, exemplary? Yes, it is, but he likes to hear it from other people. His pulse quickens, and his massage slows a little, the focus now less on soothing and more on touch.]

'Telawel'... I like it. Though, I've never been accused of being an 'honest worker' before.

[Jasier's leg rubs against his, and Hector can't help but scoot in closer, skin brushing wet skin, to kiss him. It's Jaskier's fault for sweet-talking about his skills, Hector is so, so weak to that.]

[Oof. Good advice, hard execution. That will definitely not be relevant in the future.

Ah, he's definitely learned the sort of things that affect Hector by now, and yet how delighted he is to see the reaction every time. He's so... easy. It's not meant to be a bad thing. He responds to compliments, to flatteries, with nothing but genuine pleasure.

And, mm. He has lovely kisses.]

Perhaps not honest. Hard working, then. Clearly you did something right, being a general. [He ducks down to kiss under his jaw. He can't say he really minds Hector paused his massage. Jaskier is quite flexible with how his encounters go, and touch is all he craves.] I'll make sure I stick to something like... hmm. What do you think of assiduous artisan? In your song.

[It's the least he can do. Stick to the most accurate, but complimentary, descriptors.]

Edited (I decided to make it dumber) 2021-12-29 09:10 (UTC)

[Hector pauses, frowning.]

...I don't think I did. Do right, that is. I should have stayed out of it.

[Self-reflection isn't his strong suit, but there is nothing like having been tricked into mutiny, kidnapped, and then enslaved to make a man look at his life and look at his choices and think maybe, just maybe, he could have done some things better.

His hands start moving again, massaging up Jaskier's forearm, feeling muscles that must come from playing his lute.]

I suppose songs can be cautionary. The... assiduous artisan... who spends his days bringing animals back to life isn't much meat for a tale, not like the fool who raised an army for a dead man.

[Jaskier's flattery would be a kindness, but Hector's story is a tragedy, one that a bard could turn into a warning that might benefit people. He's not sure how relevant 'don't be swayed by insane vampires' is in this world, but surely it would put some coins in Jaskier's purse nonetheless.]

Before, I wasn't sure about you advertising what I can do. But, if you want the story, it is yours. Even if you do say things like 'assiduous artisan'.

[He pulls back, sensing a bit of. Tension. To put it nicely. Ah. Fuck. He was only trying to be coy and cute, and this is what happens. He really needs to put a lid on it sometimes. (Will he follow that advice? No. Not a chance.)

Jaskier doesn't answer. He watches his face, places the hand of his free arm on Hector's leg.

When he finishes, Jaskier huffs softly. Of course he underestimates what Jaskier can do to a man's name with either ugly words or pretty ones, but that's far from the topic at hand.] Would you prefer it to be cautionary? I could do that. The question is, did you learn? From what happened to you? [He purses his lips.] And it's called alliteration, thank you. I happen to like using it. Occasionally.

[The point of the matter to Jaskier has never been whether he wants the story. He always does. It's whether the story's protagonist wants to tell it. They so rarely do.]

[His brows furrow. What has he learned? Probably not as much as he should have, but there are at least a few lessons, hard won as they are.]

Yes, I... think I have. And if you think the story's worth telling... it should have them. Otherwise, listeners might think I'm still in the market, or they might want to try their hand at what I did.

[Or, Jaskier might decide to stick with his bread-and-butter, songs about witchers, and not worry about Hector's mess of a story. Hector wouldn't blame him. But with his newfound realization, he wants to offer it.]

[He takes it so seriously. Which, you know, Jaskier appreciates -- there are not as many as he'd like who should take his craft seriously -- but he never meant to so set the tone to somber.

He gives him a smile, tucking a bit of hair behind Hector's ear. Why wouldn't it be worth telling?]

I would be honored to hear your story, my dear heart, let alone tell it to any who will listen.

[What sort of lover should he be if he didn't want to? Besides, what he had was... bits and scraps, pulled from both Hector (and mostly from that terrible reaction with the ring), and Alucard.] You needn't tell it now, unless that's how you wish to christen your new pool. Trust that I am always here to listen.

[By the time that pet name passes Jaskier's lips, Hector's tension has relaxed. He's never found such easy, sincere acceptance anywhere else.

His arms twine around Jaskier and pulls him close, and even though they aren't in their physical bodies, his heart must be hammering hard enough for Jaskier to feel it.]

It's yours whenever you wish it. But, uh, I brought you here to help you relax, not for you to work.

[He pulls back. Jaskier had cited pains in his arm, before they came here. His massaging won't actually help in the real work, but maybe it will serve as a placebo when they return.]

Turn around, I'll get your shoulders next.

[The marvel of all marvels in the Horizon, that he can feel it. And he takes the touch in deep appreciation, warmed far more by it than even the water. Perhaps he's made terrible mistakes. Done terrible things. But for all whatever has happened to him, he is the man here, now, who is kind and gentle where it matters to Jaskier. It's good enough for him. Simple as that.

His hands skate down Hector's arms as they part, just to steal the feel of them. They are lovely, after all. His appreciation since their first time has hardly yet to wane.]

You know, they say a bard's work is never done. [To be fair, he already considers himself far more relaxed than he's been in a month. Still, he turns around, bearing his shoulders, tucking wet hair behind his ears.] Fine, fine. You know I can't say no to your direct orders.

It helps that I only ask you to do things you want to do anyways...

[Hector hopes that if that wasn't the case, Jaskier would summon up some protests. He likes taking care of Jaskier. It's... symbiotic. They both benefit one another.

He rubs at the bard's shoulders, working away imaginary knots. Without knowing which arm was the sore one, he'll just have to pamper both.]

[He snorts.] There's very little with you I wouldn't want to do.

[He would. Make no mistake, Jaskier is very inclined to make it known when he does not want to do something. It's only that Hector is very sexy, does not ask for much, and what he does ask for, Jaskier is more than willing to give.

His shoulders stiffen at the first touch, the same knots he has out there in here, too. If only to give Hector plenty to work with. Slowly, they loosen. Slowly, he breathes again, letting go of the breath he held. He sinks his arms into the water, rubbing at the scar up his arm.] You know, you can ask me for more, too. It's only fair.

[Between the steam, the soak, and the pressure of his fingers, Hector makes headway on Jaskier's stiff muscles. It's nice, to have a task he can see to completion that helps his lover.]

I don't need to ask. The things I like, you just do.

[Affection and praise flows freely from the bard, and he takes interest in Hector's work, and dotes on his pets. Maybe Jaskier thinks of that as 'not much', but for Hector, it is so much.]

I suppose I could ask you to get drunk and hate-read some of the awful philosophy books they have here. Or ask you to teach me an instrument as an unsubtle excuse to demand hands-on guidance. Some day when you're not exhausted from lugging your witcher around.

[He sighs, though it's terribly fond. Who knew it became a challenge to give to a man who never seems to ask for much? He's right, of course. Jaskier doesn't think of it as much as all. It is what he gives to anyone who catches his eye, whether they sleep together or not. It feels inadequate for someone who means something more than a pretty face.

(It is a very pretty face.)]

Ahh, but you barely need to ask me for that. I am known to drink and hate-read anything I can get my hands on if it's worth the ire. [He looks over his shoulder at Hector with a laugh, attempting not to move his shoulders too much so he doesn't muss up his work.] I'll make time for you. And what instrument would my newest protégé be interested in learning? Something difficult, with many holes, which requires many memorized fingerings? I'm sure I can think of one that suits.

[~~And now Jaskier knows Lenore's struggle. What to offer a man who wants so little?~~]

I could see some merits to learning the flute. [He's already hopefully proven to Jaskier that he has a talented mouth.] That would be easier to acquire than something like a pipe organ, too.

[He grins. A bevy of innuendos come to mind, but they're all far too easy. Besides, he's already well-acquainted with Hector's talented hands and particularly-shaped things.

And, of course, his mouth.]

A forgemaster, scholar, and flautist. Not the combination I would have expected. [Among other things. Animal collector. Blacksmith. General. The man really got around skill-wise, didn't he?] Then your first official gift shall be a well-crafted flute. We can't go for any old thing.

[To be fair, most of his skills did somewhat align. To be a forgemaster, he needed magical knowledge and specialized tools, and practice reigniting life from death. Music would be a branching off from that, but a new challenge might be nice.]

I should have known you would be an instrument snob. What if it turns out I'm rubbish? You'll have wasted good coin on a nice flute for nothing.

[Well, not nothing. Hector suspects Jaskier could use the flute himself. It probably wouldn't be his preferred instrument because it precluded him from talking or singing, but perhaps it could be a back-up.]

[He smiles to himself, looking down at his hands. Practicing the flex and clench of his fingers he'd done when he was first dealing with the pain in his arms.] I'm not a snob, how rude. A poor instrument can still make good sound in talented, well-taught hands. We're simply going to boost you along.

[And it's his chance to spoil his lover, considering the total failure of his ring idea (still tucked in its box, in the drawer he keeps his songbook.)]

Nothing? It isn't nothing! Besides, under my tutelage, there is absolutely no way you'll stay rubbish. [He glances over his shoulder again.] Every time you get something right, I'll give you a taste of something wonderful. It should be enough encouragement, shouldn't it?

[And a taste gives him so many options to tease him with.]

IC Inbox (Abraxas)

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should we wrap it up here?